


the nature of these things

by zero_project



Category: One Piece
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Scheming, Uneasy Allies, non-canon timeline, post-Stampede, spoilers for Stampede, trafalgar law comes to terms with some latent daddy issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-24 02:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zero_project/pseuds/zero_project
Summary: “It’s going to be a warzone up there,” Crocodile says with soft malice. “You could use a partner.”“I’ve already got allies.”“Not like me, you don’t. You’re smart, Trafalgar. And you’re strong. But you need me.”Crocodile’s not trustworthy, even if he did help Straw Hat at Marineford, even if he’s been relatively quiet in the last couple years. He has nothing to gain from betraying them to Festa, though. It still leaves the question of what, exactly, he’s hoping to get his hands on. But if Crocodile’s using this opportunity to take advantage of him, there’s no reason why Law can’t take advantage of him in kind.Some small part of his brain, the only part left still bent on self-preservation, is screaming at him. This, Law thinks, is not one of his better ideas.
Relationships: Crocodile/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	the nature of these things

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i could say this was a horny crack ship but i am unfortunately, genuinely invested. the stampede tunnel scene and my beta reader gave me brainworms.

He’d heard a little about the pirate known as Crocodile. Law is familiar with his history, from the stories the Straw Hats have told him about Alabasta and the newspaper articles he’s saved for his personal files, for all pirates worth keeping an eye on. He’s familiar with his face too, from the wanted posters that occasionally circulate and the glimpses he caught in the broadcast of Fire Fist’s execution. It’s another thing entirely to encounter him in person, watching as the whirlwind of sand twists and bends itself into the shape of a man. Crocodile looms out of the dark. His infamous hook gleams dully in the torchlight. His smile is deeply unpleasant: a gaping wound to mirror the scar that cuts his face in half. “Douglas Bullet is secretly involved with this festival,” he informs them, not without some relish.

“Bullet,” Miss Nico repeats. Her face is pale. “As in, the man responsible for the Tragedy of Galzburg?”

“The very same. Quite the enemy we have on our hands. He’s going to be difficult to put down.”

There’s a sliver of a pause; Miss Nico’s eyes have narrowed. “And what exactly do you want with me?”

“Oh, Miss All Sunday,” Crocodile says, “I’m not here for _you.”_

Law feels the air shift, feels grit brush against his cheek as the cloud of sand descends upon the bridge where they stand. He blinks and Crocodile is suddenly next to him, breathing out a stream of smoke, far too close for comfort. Law doesn’t move. His hand tightens around Kikoku and he tilts his head back and meets Crocodile’s cold, imperious gaze with his own.

“I’ve got a plan,” Crocodile tells him. “Tag along.”

“He’ll do no such thing,” Miss Nico says at once.

“As I already said, Miss All Sunday, this doesn’t concern you. This is between me and him.”

“We should go,” Miss Nico says to him. Law’s never heard her so unsettled before, and that alone should be enough to give him pause. But they’re plainly at a disadvantage. The network of tunnels that run beneath Festa’s island stretch on and on, splitting into various forks and webs. They have no map and Chopper had their only lamp. Law’s memorized each turn they’ve taken so far, has counted his footsteps and knows they’ve walked at least a mile, and those are the only two things Law knows.

Crocodile, however, seems familiar with the layout of the tunnels. He was already well aware of Bullet’s presence at the festival. He has a plan.

“I don’t know you,” Law says carefully, at length. “Why should I help you?”

Crocodile’s smile widens; beside him, Law feels Miss Nico stiffen. “We’d be helping each other. Bullet’s a terror on a level you haven’t seen before. Got unusual haki that’s difficult to crack. But with your powers, Trafalgar, you can break his shell. And once he’s vulnerable and exposed, I’ll take his head.”

It doesn’t escape him that Crocodile knows enough about how his Devil Fruit works to strategize with it. Law neither confirms nor denies what he’s capable of, curiosity burning in him.

Miss Nico’s hand tugs at his elbow. “Let’s just keep moving. We don’t need him.”

“True,” Law says. “You’ve already given us a method for defeating Bullet. What do we need you for?”

Crocodile’s gaze trails lazily over him, lingering on his bruised jaw, on the torn sleeve of his hoodie, on the narrow cut that runs across his chest. “Yes. You were handling it _so_ well before.”

The barb’s irritating. It’s also a deflection. What’s far more interesting is the implication behind Crocodile’s words. It tells Law that Crocodile’s been watching them — been watching _him_ , really. For how long, it’s impossible to say. Since before he descended into the tunnels with the Straw Hats, since he evacuated his crew from Festa’s island.

The tunnel around them shudders, the air filling with dust. The ground shifts beneath their feet. One of the nearby torches falls from its wall bracket and sputters out, casting them into murky darkness.

“It’s going to be a warzone up there,” Crocodile says with soft malice. “You could use a partner.”

“I’ve already got allies.”

“Not like me, you don’t. You’re smart, Trafalgar. And you’re strong. But you need me.”

There’s another shudder overhead, more violent this time. The walls of the tunnel tremble.

Crocodile’s not trustworthy, even if he did help Straw Hat at Marineford, even if he’s been relatively quiet in the last couple years. He has nothing to gain from betraying them to Festa, though. It still leaves the question of what, exactly, he’s hoping to get his hands on. But if Crocodile’s using this opportunity to take advantage of him, there’s no reason why Law can’t take advantage of him in kind.

This is probably not one of his better ideas.

Crocodile smirks. “Come along now.” He turns and starts off down the tunnel. Law starts to follow, stopped short only by the hand still clutching his arm. Miss Nico’s grip is too tight; her fingers bite into his wrist. “Don’t do this, Mr. Trafalgar.”

“I’m not asking you to come,” Law assures her. “I can go on ahead. I’ll teleport you back to your crew to report on the situation.”

“I’m not concerned for myself. You can’t trust him.”

“I don’t intend to,” Law says, offering her a wry grin.

Miss Nico doesn’t smile back. “Please, Mr. Trafalgar. He’s dangerous.”

His instinct is telling him to listen. To stay with her, to regroup with the Straw Hats and come up with his own plan and let Crocodile go. But he knows how to handle dangerous men. He knows how to manipulate and watch and listen and bide his time. He knows how to survive them. He’s been doing it his whole life. He can handle one more.

“I’ll be fine,” Law says. He pulls his wrist away gently, and then turns and follows Crocodile further underground.  
  
  
  
  
  
The plan itself goes tits up, as plans usually do whenever Straw Hat gets involved. But by the end of it, Bullet lies defeated and broken. The prize, Roger’s eternal pose, is broken too, shattered into fragments of glass and splintered wood. Law catches a glimpse of Crocodile’s livid expression, right before he opens up a Room that swallows him and the Straw Hats whole.

They land on the beach in a heap. Marine warships cluster along the horizon. Twenty miles out from shore, he spots the Polar Tang as she breaks through the water’s surface.

“Thanks again, Traf,” Luffy says, clapping him on the shoulder, hard enough to bruise. “You always come up with the best ideas.”

“Don’t mention it,” Law says. He avoids the look he can feel Miss Nico giving him. “We had better move fast.”

“See you soon?”

“Hopefully not too soon, Straw Hat-ya,” Law retorts. Luffy bursts into laughter; Law bites back a grin of his own and watches as Luffy and his crew go scrambling for the safety of the Thousand Sunny.

His fingertips are glowing, ready to teleport again when he feels it: the shift in the air behind him, the sudden weight and heat of another body, a silent, lurking presence just over his shoulder. Law turns fast and Crocodile’s there. His earlier rage is gone. He looks composed once more, immaculate apart from the sand that he dusts from the sleeves of his coat. “Excellent work, by the way,” Crocodile says, when he catches Law staring. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

It’s hard to say what he likes less: that he was followed or that his escape route was so easy to predict. Law disperses the Room, letting his hand fall to rest on Kikoku’s hilt. “Shame about your treasure,” he drawls.

Crocodile’s smile tightens a little at the edges. “All things considered, it wasn’t a total waste of time. The fallout around Festa alone will prove interesting. He had plenty of sponsors for this festival. Plenty of men pissed off and ready to spill their guts to anyone willing to listen.”

Law can read well-enough between the lines — unfortunately for Crocodile, he’s not interested. An all-out massacre’s been avoided. He and his crew are safe. There’s nothing more to be salvaged from the wreckage of Festa’s island. Law glances away, back over his shoulder. The warships are closer now.

“I’ve always felt the wider your network the better. One former warlord to another, you can never have too many friends.”

A lecture. Law feels his upper lip curl. “I’ll log that away.”

“Give it some thought, at least. Straw Hat can only take you so far. Especially in times like these, with so much changing, now that Doflamingo’s no longer around to mind his empire.”

“Doflamingo’s empire is dead,” Law says irritably. “And he’s in prison.”

“Most of the men on his payroll aren’t.” Crocodile retrieves a fresh cigar from the breast pocket of his coat. “Trust me. Business carries on as usual, even when the king no longer sits on his throne. There are still plenty of goods and slaves being moved, all kinds of resources still out there for the taking.”

“Such as?” Law demands and then realizes, a moment too late, that he’s taken the bait.

Crocodile’s lighter clicks and then flares. His eyes are dark and glittering. “Tell you what, kid. Get me off this island. Get me back to my crew. And you can have whatever you want from me. Those are generous terms, right?”

The very prospect of having a stranger aboard his ship, and in such close proximity to his crew, makes everything in Law recoil. And the bait confirms what he already figured: that Crocodile’s been monitoring him, apparently long before they both set foot on Festa’s island. Another spike of anxiety lances through him at the thought. Law stifles it and focuses instead on Crocodile’s offer. It’s generous, as he said. Too generous, so much so that a lesser man might jump at it without any questions asked. Perhaps it’s even a bluff — for all his information, for how big he talks, Crocodile still needs a way off the island. And Law can either take him aboard or leave him stranded.

There’s a brief, fleeting satisfaction at the thought of refusing him, of doing the exact opposite of what Crocodile would have predicted.

Except.

Except for his sole bargaining chip. Except for Doflamingo.

Crocodile didn’t betray them during the battle against Bullet, Law reasons, even when it would have been easy to. And he hasn’t been wrong yet with the intel that he’s provided.

The tide’s coming in fast. Surf foams at his heels, the sand damp and unsteady beneath his feet. Some small part of his brain, the only part left still bent on self-preservation, is screaming at him. This, Law thinks, is an even _worse_ idea.

“Where’s your crew located?” he hears himself ask.

“Off the coast of the Arkadin Archipelago. A week and a half from here.”

“So I take you to them and you’re just going to tell me everything you know. That sounds like an ambush waiting to happen.”

Something flickers in Crocodile’s expression — annoyance, or perhaps amusement. Before Law can figure out which, Crocodile’s extended his hand toward him. “We’re partners, Trafalgar. We’d be helping each other. The least I can do is honor that.”

A burst of cannon fire ripples across the bay.

“I won’t endanger my crew,” Law says tightly.

“Of course not.”

“If you betray us, if you sell us out, I will leave you in the ocean to drown.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“You’re hesitating,” Crocodile murmurs.

Law represses a scowl and reluctantly shakes on it. Crocodile’s hand is large; it dwarfs Law’s own. His grip is strong.

“Partners,” Crocodile says.

“For now,” Law says.  
  
  
  
  
  
Penguin isn’t smiling. 

Law doesn’t look at him. He keeps his gaze fixed on the warships in the distance as the Polar Tang continues to sink beneath the waves, the water rising up, over the windows of the chart room, spilling over the deck, until they’re completely submerged. Her engine thrums as they dive, hard and fast.

“I’m sure you’ve all noticed, but we have a guest onboard with us for the next few days,” Law says.

Shachi and Bepo aren’t smiling either. Neither is Ikkaku, fiddling anxiously with the ends of her hair and staring at Crocodile. Crocodile stares back at them in bored contempt.

“The main objective right now is to outpace the marines until they lose our trail. After that, we’ll set a course.”

“To where?” Shachi blurts out.

“First things first,” Law says evenly. “The marines.”

Shachi nods, looking chastened. Penguin stares down at his boots.

“Inform the rest of the crew. Get to your stations. Take us up to twenty knots, heading due west. Bepo, keep an eye on the radar.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, broken when Law clears his throat once, pointedly. His crew disperses with their orders, Penguin with a final glance over his shoulder. Law waits until they’re gone and then turns his attention to Crocodile, who’s studying the collection of maps laid out across the chart table. Law’s fingers twitch with the need to fold the maps up, to put them out of sight, out of reach. He ignores the impulse, curls his hands into fists instead. “I’ll show you to your quarters,” Law says.

Just past the barracks and his own cabin is a spare room, cluttered from its brief use as a makeshift storage closet and from when the Straw Hats bunked up with them. Its furniture is sparse: a bookshelf shoved into one corner, a chair and desk shoved into another; a standing lamp and a squashed pull out bed. A single window looks out onto the dark, empty ocean beyond.

Law leans against the doorframe, watching as Crocodile loosens the cravat at his throat and shrugs out of his overcoat, draping it across the back of the chair. Even without its weight and bulk, he’s massive. He dwarfs the room around him, broad shoulders hunched, head bowed against the low ceiling. “Rather small,” he says, turning stiffly as he inspects his quarters.

“Clearly you’ve never been in a submarine craft before.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.” Crocodile glances at the little window. “Utterly dismal.”

“Good thing then that it’s only temporary. Let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable during your stay.”

“You’ll see to it personally, will you?”

“You’re my guest. I intend to pay very close attention to you while you’re with us.”

Law doesn’t see him move, only feels the cold curve of Crocodile’s hook suddenly against his neck. The sharp tip presses at the hollow of his throat, resting lightly against his carotid artery. “Perhaps you ought to worry about yourself first,” Crocodile says.

Law smiles thinly. “Am I supposed to be intimidated by this? Or do you feel better, now that you’ve made your point?”

Crocodile tilts his chin up a little higher. “You look tired, Trafalgar,” he says quietly.

The remark takes a second to register, and with it comes an abrupt awareness of his own body: of a dull, pounding migraine at the front of his skull, of his sore legs and his feet raw with blisters inside of his boots. He’s not so much leaning on the doorframe as he is slumped against it. He was expecting a threat, expecting mockery, was ready for it with a threat of his own. But Crocodile isn’t smirking. He’s simply watching Law with a strange, assessing look on his face. It leaves Law feeling flimsy and transparent, like damp paper. He takes a step back too fast before he can stop himself. Another mistake, realized too late.

“I’ll let you get settled,” Law says, careful to keep his tone bored. “In the meantime, I have a ship to run.”

He closes the door before Crocodile can reply.  
  
  
  
  
  
The Polar Tang is a small ship. Law knows everything about her: every dark corner, every cramped closet, how the chart table wobbles a bit because one of the legs is too short, how the second step always squeaks on the narrow stairs that lead down to the barracks. There’s a pleasure in knowing every inch, knowing exactly how she moves and operates; to know she’s sealed and contained and utterly under his command.

He’s never thought of her size as suffocating until Crocodile pointed it out; never felt that she was too cramped until the following morning, as he’s on his way to the chart room for morning reports and finds Crocodile lounging outside the kitchens, blocking his path. He looks perfectly at ease, as if he were aboard in his own ship, dressed in a simple black button down and smoking a cigar.

“You’re out of your cabin, Crocodile-ya.”

“I wasn’t aware I was confined to my quarters.” Crocodile pauses, as if allowing Law to challenge this, to demand that he return to his quarters. Law doesn’t. “I needed fresh air — relatively speaking. And a coffee. And besides, now I have the added pleasure of seeing your bright and smiling face.”

Law snorts quietly. Crocodile grins and suddenly he’s unfolding, standing at his full height. It should be comical, seeing him stooped like that, except that he takes up all the space in the hallway, looming and impossible to pass. “And where are you off to, Trafalgar?”

“Chart room. You should come. After all, you still haven’t provided the coordinates to your crew.”

“You should try asking nicely when you want something.” Crocodile’s tone is almost playful. “You get things faster that way.”

There’s nothing to say in response to that. Any retort he can think of doesn’t sound like a captain flexing his authority, but like a demanding child. Heat crawls up the back of Law’s neck.

He’s rescued by someone clearing their throat: Uni, holding a brimming mug of coffee and glancing between the two of them uncertainly. Crocodile takes the mug from him and doesn’t thank him for it. He turns his attention immediately back to Law. “Lead on, then.”

Law doesn’t let himself hesitate. He pushes past Crocodile, the wall hard at his back, Crocodile pressed against him, warm and solid, for a fleeting moment.

Bepo and Penguin and Shachi are already set up and waiting when they arrive. Law gives them a curt nod as he takes his seat. He pretends not to notice the way Shachi’s face falls when Crocodile takes a place at the table as well, or the way Penguin glares down at the little notebook he uses for their meeting agendas.

After Bepo’s concluded his weather report for the coming week, Shachi flips open their communications log. “We actually received a call last night,” he says. “Pretty late, just after midnight. I missed it while I was helping Jean Bart on watch. Looks like it was sent from the Thousand Sunny. They want us to contact them as soon as possible.”

It’s barely been a day since he last saw the Straw Hats. Perhaps they were caught by the marines during their escape, or ran into some other kind of trouble. Law restrains himself from asking for further details, though, aware of Crocodile listening closely. His alliances aren’t a secret at this point, but he’s also not about to discuss the nature of his relationship with Luffy in front of a known information broker.

And setting that aside: It’ll still be another week of sailing before they rendezvous with Crocodile’s crew and exchange him for the coordinates Law was promised. As allies, if Straw Hat’s in trouble, Law’s obligated to respond with aid. But he has to respond first. Unease sits, heavy in his chest, until he strangles it. “They’ll have to wait,” Law says. Penguin’s expression sours. “I’ll contact them later but right now, we have other matters to attend to. Speaking of which.” He leans forward, shifting aside the layers of maps spread across the chart table, to display a blank chart of the Red Line underneath. “If you would, Crocodile-ya.”

“You haven’t delivered me to my crew yet. How do I know you’re not going to betray me as soon as you have what you want?”

“We made a deal,” Law says, throwing the words back in Crocodile’s face. “I’ll honor it.”

Crocodile, if anything, looks pleased by this. Law watches as he picks up a spare quill and makes two quick marks on the map. “There,” he says.

Law frowns. “Two locations?”

“Where my crew is currently anchored. And where the ship we’re tracking will likely drop anchor next.”

“What ship?”

“You wanted information on Doflamingo’s existing networks and assets, didn’t you? That ship does regular supply runs between his old contacts and former outposts. Eternal poses, bookkeeping records, the names of their dealers—whatever you want, they’ll have it onboard. You just have to take it.”

“You could have mentioned that sooner,” Law says, just barely managing to keep his voice even. “You didn’t say anything about us entering a combat situation.”

“You’re a pirate. It should be easy.”

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you just do it yourself?” Penguin snaps.

Even from here, Law can spot the tic in Penguin’s jaw. He needs to diffuse the situation quickly. Law already made the mistake of being baited by Crocodile. He’s not about to let it happen to Penguin. Not aboard his ship, not in the space where he’s the one who sets order and rules and limits. “Enough,” he says, getting to his feet. Penguin falls silent. Crocodile’s watching him with interest. “Bepo, Shachi. Go to the control room. Give Clione these coordinates but tell him to hold course for the time being.”

“Aye, captain.”

“I’ll speak with you in your quarters later about next steps,” Law adds, glancing sharply at Crocodile.

He expects a sneer, outright dismissal. He’s met with only a faint smirk. “Looking forward to it,” Crocodile says, and takes his leave as well. Penguin glowers after him.

“Penguin,” Law says. “A moment.”

He waits until they’re alone. Penguin shifts in his seat. He tugs at the brim of his hat; it doesn’t do much to hide his face, as his glower crumbles into guilt under Law’s hard stare. “Sorry, captain,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.”

“Do we have a problem?” Law asks flatly.

“No. Of course not. I don’t have a problem with you.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Penguin’s gaze darts to the floor. That faint tic from before pulses in his jaw. “I don’t like him being onboard. And I don’t like him messing with you.”

“So you thought undermining my authority in front of him was the best way to help with that?”

Penguin shrinks a little further in his seat.

“It’s only for a matter of days,” Law says, relenting a little. “He has information that can help us. For now, he’s useful. So for now, we treat him as an ally.”

“I like our other alliance better.”

Me too, Law doesn’t say. “I’m perfectly capable of dealing with him. I’m not going to let him hurt our crew.”

“I’m not worried about _us_. I don’t…” Penguin flushes. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Law pauses. He turns this information over in his head once, weighing it, then returns to the issue at hand. “Let me deal with him,” Law repeats.

“Law—”

“I’ve dealt with people far more dangerous than him.”

“I know, man. I know you have, but I—”

“Do you trust me?”

“It’s not a question of trusting you,” Penguin says with a slightly pleading note in his voice.

“Do you trust me?” Law repeats, firmer.

Penguin squares himself. He lifts his gaze from the floor at last and meets Law’s eyes. “Always, captain.”  
  
  
  
  
  
After Penguin leaves for his next shift, Law sits alone in the chart room, staring at the two coordinates on the maps.

All men want something. The entire age of Roger was built on the collective fever dream of men who wanted to believe that they could be powerful, rich, famous. Caesar Clown lied and begged and stole to get the funding for his vile research. Doflamingo killed for the family he always wanted, for the power that had nearly slipped through his fingers. The desire for greatness is tearing apart that moron, Eustass Kidd, a piece at a time. Straw Hat has suffered, in ways that Law knows far too well, at the hands of a dream.

Law wanted Corazon’s memory to be at peace. He wanted to know that freeing Dressrosa was not in vain; to see the very last of Doflamingo’s empire hunted down and crushed once and for all beneath his heel. Crocodile knew that, used it as bait against him, and Law ate it right up.

He chews the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood.

What Crocodile wants is control, in spite of his precarious situation aboard the Polar Tang. It’s why he played his hand so transparently back on the beach. He isn’t smarter than Law is, but he holds all the cards: the course of the ship they’re apparently tracking, its schedule, how many men are aboard, how well-armed they’ll be. As long as he can hold that out of reach, Law has no real recourse to keep him from antagonizing his men, for keeping Crocodile under his thumb.

_I don’t like the way he looks at you._

Crocodile is a former warlord, a notorious pirate, a force to be reckoned with. He’s difficult to read and their partnership is tenuous at best. But he’s also just a man. And any man can be leveraged, if you know his interests, his weaknesses. His desires can be exploited.

Law drums his fingers slowly against the table.

Perhaps threats and intimidation and authority aren’t quite the right approach when it comes to managing Crocodile and the situation they’ve found themselves in. Perhaps something a little subtler. Subterfuge has always been his preference anyway.

After all, Crocodile also wanted him to play nice. And everyone likes to get exactly what they want.  
  
  
  
  
  
Law waits until half past ten, after Bepo’s dropped by his cabin with his much belated dinner and then retrieves the bottle of whiskey that he keeps in the bottom drawer of his desk. He doesn’t own any nicer glasses so he settles for two of his least battered coffee mugs.

Crocodile is slow to answer when Law knocks. There’s an idle hum of acknowledgement and Law pushes the door open. Crocodile’s reclining on the bed, book in hand, a finger to mark the page. He raises an eyebrow at the mugs and the whiskey. “Planning on staying awhile, Trafalgar?”

It’s my ship, Law thinks viciously. I’ll go wherever I like, for as long as I like.

He sets the bottle down on the desk along with the cups and reminds himself to smile. “A peace offering.”

Crocodile is silent. It’s a rather nice change of pace to see him looking caught off guard for once. At length, though, he closes his book. “Such hospitality.” Law draws up the chair beside the bed. He pours them both a generous amount. Crocodile watches until Law’s taken the first sip before taking a drink himself. “You have cheap taste in liquor.”

Prick.

“Apologies that it’s not to your liking,” Law says.

Crocodile takes another sip. “Remind me to introduce you to a better brand of whiskey.”

“I look forward to that,” Law says, sitting back in his chair. He lets his legs fall open, lets his head tilt lazily to one side. “All right. Tell me more about this ship we’ll be intercepting.”

“Small warship. A crew of twenty-five marines at most.”

“Marines,” Law repeats. “You’re sending us after marines.”

“Corrupt marines, if that eases your conscience.”

“Spare me,” Law says. A ghost of a smile crosses Crocodile’s face. Law takes a long sip of whiskey while he thinks it over. He has no compunctions about attacking marines. The bigger problem is that Crocodile keeps revealing new pieces of information, meaning there’s more to the picture than what he’s currently seeing. Meaning he risks walking into a situation where he doesn’t have all the details. He’ll have to get those out of him sooner rather than later.

Law slumps a little further in his seat, letting their knees deliberately bump and then rest against each other. He sees Crocodile’s gaze flicker briefly downward.

“Won’t the marines notice when their men go missing?”

“Not for at least a week. This voyage is off schedule. They don’t want their connection to Doflamingo discovered. No one will see us coming.”

“ _Us?”_

“As a show of good faith. I know how...concerned you are about your crew. Since I’m here, I might as well hang around, make myself useful and help you take the ship.”

That’s an interesting change of plans. “How generous.”

“I thought you might feel that way. I’d like to take my own stab at Doflamingo’s legacy.” Crocodile gives him a wry look. “I imagine you understand that better than anyone.”

Law ignores the way his chest tightens slightly. He’s not so sure he likes the turn this conversation’s taking. “I don’t follow.”

“I suppose that whole business with Dressrosa just happened on a whim?”

Might as well dispense with pretense then. “So you _have_ been following me.”

“Just for a little while. Old habit,” Crocodile admits idly. “I like keeping tabs on new talent. And you have that in spades.”

It’s obvious flattery. Law would sneer, only it’s not quite the impression he’s going for. Instead he ducks his head, as if caught off guard by the compliment. It gives him a moment to think. At least he’s finally pinpointed what put him on Crocodile’s radar. Dressrosa was front page news after all. It doesn’t mean that Crocodile needs to know that it was personal. It doesn’t mean that Law wants to talk about it.

“Dressrosa was mostly Straw Hat,” Law says eventually. “He just has a knack for tearing down empires.” He looks up at Crocodile through his eyelashes. “You would know all about that though, wouldn’t you.”

He’s not exactly sure how he expected Crocodile to react to that taunt. With narrowed eyes, with a thinly veiled threat. Certainly not laughter, but Crocodile tips his head back and chuckles. “Doflamingo was a spoiled brat who didn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no.’ He got exactly what was coming to him.” Crocodile leans forward to pour more whiskey into Law’s cup. He’s too close, his knee between Law’s legs, keeping them spread. The warm lamplight highlights the deep set lines in his forehead, around his mouth and eyes. He’s got a single, gold loop through one ear. Law hadn’t noticed that before.

“I enjoyed watching you work,” Crocodile says. “I must admit, I’ve been looking forward to the day our paths would cross. He clinks his mug against Law’s. “Good riddance to Doflamingo.”

The hull creaks. Crocodile spares it a glance and finally moves, sinking back onto the bed. He retrieves a new cigar from the pocket of his coat and lights it.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Law says, unable to help himself.

“Indulge me.”

“As a doctor, I don’t like to enable bad habits.”

Crocodile gives him a withering little smile. “A doctor _and_ a pirate. How does that happen?”

“I wasn’t always a pirate,” Law says carefully. “I imagine you were someone else once too.”

Crocodile shrugs, looking bored.

They’ve reached the limits of the conversation. Crocodile’s eyes slide closed, a ring of smoke escaping from between his lips. Law finds himself looking at the stitching of his scar, the mangled tissue faded with time. He wants to touch it, he realizes, and then immediately makes himself look elsewhere, down into the bottom of his mug.

His knee is still resting against Crocodile’s and Crocodile has made no attempt to shift away. Whiskey burns his throat, its warmth spreading through his body as the cabin fills with a surprisingly easy silence and the heavy smell of tobacco.

It’s not as unpleasant as Law wants it to be.


End file.
